


Crossing Kansas

by fonapola



Category: Smallville, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crossover, F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-01-20 15:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1514741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fonapola/pseuds/fonapola
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three people facing the impossible everyday. It was just a matter of time until they met.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Only Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story years ago, but never finished it. I'm posting it here (and editing it as I go) in an attempt to motivate myself to finally finish this beast. 
> 
> I originally cranked out 70-odd chapters while battling college, work, and general insanity. I should be able to finish this now that I just have work and mild-insanity to combat...
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy!

The web browser loaded, and Chloe willed herself to relax. It felt good to be back behind her laptop. It was her personal therapy. All she needed was a cup of coffee and a keyboard, and she could forget all her worries.

Or at least pretend to.  
  
It was kind of hard to forget her worries when she was researching them. But no matter how freaked out she was, she couldn’t curb her curiosity. Ever since finding out she had come back from the dead—thanks to her not-so-dormant meteor powers—she had been researching other stories like hers.  
  
She wasn’t completely sure what she’d do if she found someone with her particular brand of meteor power, but she kept looking. She needed information. She needed to know what she was dealing with. Coming back from the dead— _healing someone_ then coming back from the dead—wasn’t something that was covered on WebMD. It was going to take her digging skills to find any information.  
  
Unfortunately, all she’d found so far were a few stories about people who’d been brought back from the edge of death thanks to their medical staff. They weren’t the answers she was looking for. _Her_ medical staff had locked her body up in a morgue. They’d had nothing to do with her resurrection.  
  
She pursed her lips and tried another search, seeking out sites and connections the average Google user wouldn’t bother looking for.  
  
 _Bank Robber Linked to Dead St. Louis Murderer._  
  
As far as leads went, she’d seen worse. She just hoped she’d finally found something more than a simple hospital miracle or case of mistaken identity.  
  
She wasn’t exactly thrilled with the idea of sharing powers with a murderer, but if it gave her the answers she was looking for…  
  
She clicked the link.

\---

Sam took a sip of his coffee as he read over that morning's newspaper. After browsing the obituaries and coming up empty handed, he’d turned to the news hoping to find a case. It had been a week since Lincoln, and Sam was itching for a hunt. He needed something to distract him from his thoughts.

His search to get Dean out his deal would never stop—not until he was sure his brother wasn’t headed towards the pit in a year. But, that didn’t mean he wanted to think about everything that went with his brother’s suicidal crossroads pact. ( _Pain. Torture. Damnation._ )  
  
A case would keep his brother occupied and allow Sam a chance to focus on something other than the hellfire looming in Dean’s future.  
  
 _Hell_. Dean was going to Hell. He’d _sold_ his _soul_ to save Sam’s life.  
  
He really wished he could hate him for that. But, somehow, Sam knew the desperation he felt to stop Dean’s untimely end was the same desperation that had driven Dean to the crossroads in the first place.  
  
Sam understood Dean’s deal. But—if given the chance—he would break the deal in a heartbeat. His life wasn’t worth Dean’s eternal damnation—  
  
 _Body Stolen from Smallville Medical Center_. There. He’d found it.  
  
He felt a moment of relief, as he started reading the article. A stolen corpse could just be someone’s sick idea of a joke, or it could be a case.  
  
He really hoped it was a case.

\---

Dean Winchester. Born January 24, 1979. “Died” March 7, 2006.  
  
Chloe gave an impressed hum, as she read over Dean’s police record. His body had been found at the scene of a crime in Missouri. Then about a year later, he'd turned up at a bank robbery a few states over. The police weren’t able to explain his miraculous reincarnation, but they were still looking into it (at least since the time of the article).  
  
So far, the theories ranged from identical twins to plastic surgery. No one believed he’d _actually_ risen from the dead. But then, the police were generally skeptical of anything out of the range of “normal.”  
  
With an uncertain sigh, Chloe pushed her laptop away and looked over at her death certificate. She never thought she’d find herself relating to a—possibly meteor infected—killer. It was usually her job to help stop men like Dean, not seek common, power-influenced ground. Then again, she'd never thought she would be part of the _meteor infected_ category.

 

Life as she knew it was changing, and so far Dean Winchester was the only one who seemed to hold at least some of the answers.  
  
If anything, she could learn from his example. It was only a matter of time before her death and resurrection became a problem. She needed to take a cue from Dean and make sure people didn’t start digging around in her life. The fact that she was alive took away any chance of the police digging up a body, but there was still the small problem of official hospital documents.  
  
First step was to burn the hardcopy. Second step would involve some more computer magic.  
  
And then she was going to do some more research on Dean Winchester. She was a reporter after all. Meteor Freak or not.

\---

“Smallville, Kansas?”

Sam’s mouth quirked at Bobby’s surprised tone. It wasn’t often he caught the older man off guard. “Yeah, a body went missing at the local hospital and I think it might be a case.”  
  
“You mean you’re hoping it’s a case,” Bobby translated, giving him a knowing look.  
He didn’t bother arguing. Nodding, instead. “Yeah.”  
  
Bobby shrugged. “I’ve heard rumors of supernatural activity there, but no hunter has ever found anything legitimate. If you ask me, it’s just a town full of crazies.”  
  
“What about the two meteor showers?” Sam pressed, because he couldn’t let his case disappear before he had a real chance to investigate it.  
  
“What about them?”  
  
No automatic denial, which meant there was still a chance. “According to some citizens, the meteor rocks have the ability to give humans special abilities.”  
  
“You mean like superpowers?”  
  
It was Sam’s turn to shrug. “I guess.”  
  
“Well I know the supernatural, not comics. I don’t know what to tell you about some magic, space rocks.” Bobby handed Sam back the article on the missing corpse then gestured over his shoulder to where Dean was packing the Impala. “But if you can convince your brother to check it out, keep me posted.”  
  
“Really?” That wasn’t the response he’d been expecting.  
  
“Yeah.” Bobby smirked. “I’ve got a bet going with another hunter that the entire town is nuts. If you can prove it I’m up a hundred bucks.”

\---

“Smallville?” Dean asked after giving the article Sam had placed in his hands a once over. His surprised tone echoed Bobby’s.  
  
“Yeah, I think there might be a case.”  
  
At the word _case_ Dean smiled. “Well then, what are we waiting for?”

  



	2. First Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was only a matter of time until Chloe and the Winchesters found out about each other...then met.

Smallville was, well, _small_ , but the town had a relatively clean motel and a café with decent coffee. Overall, Sam knew it was better than they could ask for. Clean sheets, strong coffee, and they were happy.  
  
Sometimes, Sam missed the years when he’d expected more. When he’d hoped for a better life for him _and_ his brother.  
  
Now, he just hoped for _life_ for his brother. Better or otherwise. Dirty sheets, weak coffee— anything—as long as it meant his brother would still be around in a year.  
  
“So I think I found our corpse,” Dean announced, walking over to the café table and effectively cutting into Sam’s thoughts. He tossed a paper at Sam before sitting down, giving his brother a look that said he knew exactly what had been running through his mind.  
  
Sam ignored the look, dropping his attention to the newspaper as his brother continued. “It was a woman named Chloe Sullivan. According to the hospital staff, she came in near-death the day Reeve’s Dam burst, but the doctors couldn’t do anything for her. Then, less than an hour after she died, her body vanished along with her death certificate.  
  
“Not only that,” Dean tapped the table with an excited flourish, “there is no record in the hospital’s database that she even came in that day. If it weren’t for the memory of the hospital staff, it would be as if she’d never been there.”  
  
Sam finally looked up from the newspaper, not seeing any of what his brother had just said in the print. “So why wasn’t all that in the news?”  
  
His brother smirked. “Because that information is classified.”

Sam huffed a laugh. He knew that smirk. It meant Dean had just spent the last hour chatting up Smallville Medical Center’s female staff to learn everything he could for the case. _Working_ , as Dean liked to call it.  
  
Sam had another name for it.  
  
“So what’s with the newspaper?” he asked, keeping the subject away from his brother’s flirting. He set the newspaper down and gestured to the top article. It was about the Metropolis City Hall meeting. One of the council members was running for mayor. Unless that member was related to Chloe, Sam couldn’t spot the connection.  
  
“Look at the bottom article,” Dean instructed, flipping the paper over. “Chloe Sullivan wrote it. Apparently she’s a reporter for the Daily Planet.” He looked pleased with the information he’d managed to collect.  
  
“But she lived in Smallville?” Sam asked, trying to remember how far away Smallville was from Metropolis. Hours, at least.  
  
“Yeah, one of the nurses told me that Chloe lives with her cousin above a local coffee shop, the Talon.” Dean said.  
  
“Wait,” Sam cut in, catching something. “You said _lives_.”  
  
Dean nodded. “Yes I did.”  
  
Sam collected the newspaper and stood, pulling out his wallet to drop a few bills on the table. Missing corpses was one thing. A resurrected corpse was a whole new case. “Did the nurse happen to tell you where to find the Talon?” he asked.  
  
“No,” Dean said then shrugged. “But this town is four blocks long. We’ll find it.”

\---

The Talon had been easy to find. Chloe, unfortunately, had not. _Working late_ , one of the baristas had told Dean—before sliding her phone number across the counter.  
  
Between Dean’s brand of questioning and Sam’s, they’d quickly confirmed that (a) Chloe was no longer dead and (b) no one they had questioned knew about her death.  
  
If Chloe _had_ come back from the dead, it wasn’t something that was widely known.  
  
The only lead they had left to follow was to question Chloe directly or maybe her cousin, who the phone-number-offering barista said shared the upstairs apartment with Chloe.  
  
In the end, Dean had volunteered to stay at the Talon and wait for the cousins while Sam headed back to the motel. His brother had made it sound like he was doing Sam a favor, but Dean wasn’t fooling anyone. They both knew it was his way of getting out of research.  
  
Even if Dean knew his way around a computer, it didn’t mean he enjoyed sitting in the motel and looking up facts for a case. ( _I got a year to live, Sam._ ) And with his looming deadline, the less time he spent in a motel room—unless it was in the company of a well endowed female—the better.  
  
That was one of his brother’s new personality quirks Sam could handle. The less time Dean spent in the motel room, the more time Sam had to research without getting lectured by him.  
  
He wasn’t supposed to be finding a way to break Dean’s deal. It was dangerous. But, Sam knew how to ignore his family’s orders when he wanted to.  
  
For that night, though, Sam’s research was focused on their current case instead of ways to keep Hell out of Dean’s future. He still had a case to solve.  
  
Researching Chloe Sullivan and her cousin, Lois Lane, was easy enough. They were both published journalists with enough articles to fill a few portfolios. Unfortunately, none of their articles gave any hint as to what the Winchesters’ case was about.  
  
 _Fortunately_ , it didn’t take too much research to connect the dots of their case.  
  
According to the Talon staff, Chloe and Lois were close. According to Dean’s digging, Lois had been the one to bring Chloe into the hospital after she’d found her near-death at the dam.  
  
According to Sam’s own intuition, Lois had also been the reason for Chloe’s resurrection.  
  
They were handling a crossroads deal.  
  
Of course.  
  
Sam ran a hand through his hair. He suddenly regretted ever taking the case. It had been an attempt to forget about his brother’s deal for a moment. He should have known better…  
  
Before his dark thoughts could continue, his phone rang, pulling him back to the present. He schooled his thoughts and answered on the second ring. “Yeah?”

“Chloe was a hot, little blonde chick, right?” Dean asked in greeting.  
  
Sam rolled his eyes. “She was a corpse four days ago, Dean. Remember that.”  
  
His brother’s smirk was almost audible. “No one’s perfect, Sammy.”  
  
“I’m assuming this means you found her,” Sam said, instead of continuing their conversation down the potentially uncomfortable path.  
  
“Yeah, just got home. I’m going to go pay zombie-girl a visit.”  
  
“Okay, but don’t pin her to her grave until you’re sure she’s not human,” Sam instructed, knowing the reaction he’d receive.  
  
As expected, Dean gave an annoyed huff. “Dude, I’m a professional. I know what I’m doing.”  
  
Sam smiled. “Just keep me posted.”  
  
His brother grumbled a response then hung up. Sam did the same, letting his smile fall as he set the phone down. No amount of joking was going to make the case any easier. Lois had sold her soul just as Dean had. They were both headed for Hell.  
  
And Sam had to find a way to save them.

\---

There were two stacks of paper on Chloe’s coffee table. One with files on Belle Reeve inmates. One with information on Dean Winchester.  
  
One held the future she had feared since finding out she was a meteor freak. One held proof that humans with power usually turned away from their basic instinct to do good.  
  
If Dean had the same power as her, it was obvious he wasn’t using it to heal those in need. He was using it for his own personal gain: to commit crimes and avoid punishment. Every article and record she’d tracked down had all pointed towards the same conclusion: Dean Winchester was nothing more than a _gifted_ crook.  
  
She was tempted to leave it at that. To accept the conclusion other newspapers had drawn for her and move on—but she knew better. Newspapers reported facts, but only if the facts they were given made sense. They wouldn’t report facts on a bank robber’s Lazarus-powers, because they wouldn’t believe it to be true.  
  
And maybe, if they had neglected to cover that part of the story then they had neglected to cover other important parts of the story. Maybe Dean wasn’t the hardened crook the facts said he was.  
  
Maybe she didn’t share meteor powers with a murderer.  
  
Or _maybe_ she was just being naïve.

A sudden knock on her apartment’s door, pulled her from internal musings. She frowned, scooping up the stack of paper on Dean Winchester and stuffing it out of sight. It wasn’t often she got a visitor that actually knocked and waited for her to open the door. They usually knocked and walked in—if they knocked at all.  
  
She stood and moved to the door, opening it with a greeting smile. If she was lucky, the visitor wouldn’t stick around long, and she could return to worrying about her meteor-powered future.  
  
The door opened and her smile faltered— _Or if I’m_ very _lucky, my research subject will show up at my door._  
  
Coincidences were pretty par for the course when it came to the weirdness that was Smallville. But even Chloe was thrown by the coincidence standing in her doorway, smirking like her surprise amused him.

“Chloe Sullivan?” he asked, after a beat.  
  
 _Dean Winchester_ , she almost echoed, but didn’t. Instead, she just nodded, studying him in the same way she’d been studying articles on him for the last two days.  
  
He looked like all the pictures she’d found of him, of course. But, seeing him up close was something unexpected and a little unnerving. If she hadn’t just spent all that time with his police file, she would have thought Jason Teague had risen from the grave. A rougher and cockier looking Jason Teague, but the men definitely shared major facial similarities.  
  
And why did it always go back to the risen dead?  
  
“Can I help you?” she asked, when he didn’t say any more.  
  
His smirk faded to a professional stare. “My name is Agent Bloom. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions about the missing body from Smallville Medical.” As he spoke, he pulled out a badge, held it in front of her face long enough for her to realize it looked legitimate, and then tucked it back into his coat.  
  
Impersonating a federal agent. According to his file, that was a favorite pastime of his. She just didn’t understand why he had chosen _her_ door to practice his hobby. Uncertainty settled heavily over her as she nodded. “Sure,” she agreed, even when part of her wanted to close the door and call the real authorities. “I don’t know any more than what I read in the paper, though.”  
  
“Oh?” Dean muttered, sounding doubtful. “The hospital seemed to think you’d be able to help with this case.”  
  
“And how’s that?” she asked, not having to fake the surprise on her face. She had spent enough years keeping secrets and telling bold-faced lies to know the components of an unbeatable poker face. In that moment, though, there was no lack of genuine feelings in her tone and expression.  
  
Dean Winchester, the alleged criminal, was at her door, impersonating a federal agent and asking about her escape from the hospital morgue. He’d researched her missing corpse. He’d sought her out to ask her questions.  
  
Surprised was a bit of an understatement.  
  
“Well ma’am,” he started, his tone gaining a level of sincerity she would have thought was real if not for the fact that he was still pretending to be Agent Bloom. “The hospital didn’t actually tell me to talk to you. I came to that decision on my own, after they told me whose body it was that had disappeared.”  
  
Chloe carefully schooled her features. She should have known there would be repercussions for escaping from the Smallville morgue. Deleting all proof that she had ever been at the hospital didn’t erase the memory of her existence. The hospital staff wasn’t likely to forget covering her body with a sheet and sticking it in a cooler—even if the hard copy evidence for that had vanished.  
  
Though, she never would have guessed it would be Dean Winchester who’d confront her with that one weakness in her morgue-escape.  
  
“Whose body was it?” she asked, because there was nothing else to do. She wasn’t about to confess to an alleged criminal.  
  
“Yours.”  
  
“What?” Chloe looked down at herself then up at him, as if to prove to them both that his information had been incorrect. “I think you got your information from a bad source. I’ve been hurt pretty bad before, but never enough that the hospital could mistake me for a dead patient.”  
  
She pursed her lips in disbelief, letting her uncertainty for the whole situation settle on her features. “Do I look dead?” she asked, without any hint of sarcasm.  
  
He started to shake his head, but paused and reached for his pocket. “Excuse me,” he apologized, pulling out his cell phone. As he read the screen, his face darkened in annoyance and he mumbled something that sounded surprisingly foreign. He tucked his phone back in his pocket and gave her an apologetic nod. “I guess I just had to see for myself that you were alive. Can’t be too careful about these things,” he said in a tone that was surprisingly ominous. “Thank you for your time, Ms. Sullivan.”  
  
At her parting nod, he turned and walked away, leaving her to stare after him in confusion.  
  
As a rule, her life was weird. But sometimes, she wouldn’t mind a degree of normalcy.  
  
 _What was_ that _about?_

\---

Sometimes cases came with easy explanations—even if they weren’t easy to finish. Most times, though, cases were a mystery up until the monster reared its unexpected head.  
  
Dean had a feeling he wouldn’t like the explanation for their current case, whenever they figured out what it was.  
  
He walked inside the motel room, tossed his coat in the direction of his bed, and started recapping before it landed. “She’s not a shapeshifter—there was no eye-flare on my phone’s camera. She didn’t so much as twitch at _Christo_. And she’s not a zombie. I could just tell.” He counted off his ideas as he spoke. Then shot his bother a look, when his ideas ran dry. “You got any clues?”  
  
Sam looked up from his laptop, but didn’t look him in the eye. “Crossroads deal,” he said matter-of-factly.  
  
Dean cursed. He’d been right. He _didn’t_ like the explanation. “Okay,” he agreed stiffly. “But who would make the deal?”

Sam finally met his gaze. “Her cousin—”  
  
“—Lois,” Dean finished with him. The woman who had brought Chloe into the hospital, desperate and hurting. The woman who likely would do anything to save her younger cousin.  
  
And didn’t Dean know exactly how that felt.  
  
“Case solved then, huh?” he asked, regretting ever taking the job. It was the last missing corpse they were going to be handling for a while, if he had anything to say about it. He didn’t need his job reminding him of his looming deadline anymore than he needed Sam giving him those sad glances whenever he thought Dean wasn’t looking.  
  
Sam shook his head, his expression anything but sad just then. “No. We have to make sure.”  
  
“And when we confirm?” Dean asked, though he could have guessed at the answer.  
  
“We’ll try to save her.”  
  
Dean crossed his arms, giving his brother an irritated frown. “She made her choice, Sam.”  
  
“So? That means we can’t try to save her?” Sam demanded. “It’s _Hell_ she’s headed for, Dean. Somehow, I doubt Chloe would agree that her life is worth her cousin’s eternal damnation.”  
  
 _My life isn’t worth_ your _damnation._ Dean was fluent in the art of Sam’s subtext.  
  
“It wasn’t Chloe’s decision to make,” he said, because he was just as good at subtext as his brother.  
  
Sam’s gaze was a mix of anger and sadness, and he was the only one Dean knew who could merge the two emotions so seamlessly. “No, it’ll just be hers to live with.”  
  
 _But at least you’ll live._ Dean swallowed his response, moving to pick his coat back up, instead. “Let’s go talk to Lois.”

\---

It seemed the Sullivan-Lane cousins were hardly home—which meant the Winchester brothers were forced to spend too much time sitting outside their apartment building, waiting for them to arrive.  
  
At the third sigh, Dean turned to Sam, cocking an eyebrow in annoyance. “Dude, you’re like a bored ten-year-old.”  
  
“And you’re like a cranky three-year-old,” Sam shot back, keeping his attention on the building in front of them.  
  
Dean didn’t bother commenting on the lameness of his brother’s comeback. It would be too easy. “Why don’t you go inside and see if you can figure out when Lois is coming back,” he offered, instead.  
  
Sam’s grateful look was almost embarrassing, but he was out of the car, before Dean could say so. “I’ll be back,” he said then walked away, leaving Dean alone with his car.  
  
He wasn’t alone for long. Just as Sam’s long frame disappeared inside the Talon, there was a knock on the passenger side window. Dean jumped and turned to find Chloe glaring in at him. He didn’t bother leaning over to roll down the window, just stepped out of the car and looked at her expectantly over the hood.  
  
“Was that your partner?” she asked, gesturing in the direction Sam had gone.  
  
“Yes,” Dean said, glad Sam had thought to bring his fake ID in with him. “We were—”  
  
“Spying on me?” Chloe finished sharply. She moved closer as she spoke, walking around the car until she was standing in front of him.

He blinked in surprise at her tone. She’d developed a sharp edge after their first meeting—and he doubted it was going to make the case any easier.  
  
She continued before he could come up with a good lie, and he was left to wait for her irritated words to stop. “I realize you think I miraculously rose from the dead, but I’m telling you: I was never dead. Whoever told you otherwise was seriously misinformed. I’m fine, and I’d appreciate it if you and your _partner_ would leave me alone.”  
  
“Actually,” he argued, cutting in as her words slowed. “We aren’t here for you.”  
  
Chloe crossed her arms. “Who are you here for?”  
  
“Your cousin, Lois Lane.”  
  
Fear flashed across Chloe’s features, leaving Dean to wonder just how in-the-dark she was about her cousin’s deal. Sam had figured out Dean’s deal within a day. Bringing someone back from the dead was a hard thing to cover up.  
  
Maybe Chloe knew about Lois’s deal. Maybe she was afraid Dean and Sam were there to break it. Maybe she was more okay with her cousin selling her soul than Sam had thought.  
  
Somehow, Dean didn’t think that was the case. But, that didn’t explain the fear in her eyes.  
  
“I know you aren’t a real cop,” Chloe stated, her features hardening again. “I did some digging and no one in the police department has ever heard of an Agent Bloom. So just stay away from my family, or I’ll turn you in for impersonating an officer.”  
  
Dean didn’t bother responding, just watched with a small frown as she turned and marched towards the Talon. He waited until she was across the street and moved inside the building, before shaking his head in disbelief. “I’m just trying to help,” he mumbled.

\---

“She doesn’t _want_ our help, Sam. Now drop it.”  
  
Sam frowned, but did as he was told, dropping the heavy book in his hands so it landed on the table with a thump. “You didn’t even let me question Lois. What if this _isn’t_ a crossroads deal. What if it’s something else?”  
  
Dean’s shrug was irritatingly nonchalant. There were times Sam really wanted to hit him. “Maybe the chick is just immortal. We’ve been in town for a few days now and no more stiffs have risen from their graves. Nothing sinister is going on in this town.” He tapped that day’s newspaper as he moved past its resting spot on the TV stand. “Smallville isn’t even acting as weird as Bobby had warned. She made her opinion pretty clear, and I don’t feel like sticking around where I’m not wanted.”  
  
“Since when?” Sam countered.  
  
“Since now,” Dean responded. “The case is closed. Either Lois made a deal and both women are willing to live with the consequences, or Chloe wasn’t as dead as the medical team thought she was. Either way, I’m ready to put this town in the rearview mirror.”  
  
“Well, I’m not,” Sam stated.  
  
Dean gave him a belittling look. “What are you going to do, Sam? Convince Lois to save her soul by letting Chloe die? Good luck with that. Tell me how it goes.”  
  
“We got a crossroads demon to break a deal once before.”  
  
“That was dumb luck. The chances of it happening again are slim.”  
  
Sam stood from the table he’d been at, grabbing his jacket as he rose and jerking it on. “But there’s still a chance. And as long as there is, I’m not going to let Lois die.”  
  
“Sam…” Dean started when his brother reached for the door knob.  
  
Sam didn’t turn around as he cut him off. “I’m not letting anyone die,” he concluded then pulled open the door and walked out.  
  
He didn’t bother sticking around to see if Dean got the message.

 ---

They hadn’t left town.  
  
She had hoped her threat to Dean would have been enough. With the amount of trouble he’d had with the police, she’d expected him to leave that night instead of risk arrest.  
  
A day later, she realized she’d been wrong.  
  
Giving the taser in her purse one last look, Chloe knocked on the motel door in front of her and prayed. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice was listing everything that was wrong with confronting two men who were wanted by the FBI.  
  
That voice wasn’t as loud as the one that listed everything that could happen if she let those same men anywhere near her family.  
  
She still hadn’t figured out why they were in Smallville spying on her and Lois, but she was going to make sure they didn’t stay any longer. The last thing she needed was them digging into her life and unearthing a few too many secrets.  
  
Besides, if anything went wrong she had a super-powered alien a scream away.  
  
The door opened, and she found herself face to chest with the man she had seen with Dean the day before. “Can I help you?” he asked, looking at her with the same soft eyes Clark had used on her for years.  
  
“You and your brother can leave town,” she responded, her tone simple and direct. She’d only found one picture—a fuzzy mug shot—of Samuel Winchester, but the surprised look in the man’s eyes told her she’d guessed correctly.  
  
Dean appeared next to his brother and frowned at her. Chloe knew she’d struck a nerve, if Dean’s _I’m the good guy_ façade was wearing thin. “Don’t worry, Ms. Sullivan. We were just leaving.”  
  
 _Don’t worry._ Right. “Good. And while you’re on your way out of time, don’t bother stopping by the Talon. My cousin won’t be home,” she looked pointedly at the younger Winchester as she spoke.  
  
Dean followed her gaze, giving his brother a curious look. “We’ll leave your cousin alone.” The statement was almost a question, and Samuel nodded in annoyed agreement.  
  
“I don’t know why you’re suddenly interested in my life, but it ends now. No more stalking my apartment and no more trying to track down my cousin. If you don’t stop, I know an FBI agent who would appreciate a phone call from me.”  
  
Dean’s earlier frown darkened with understanding. “We said we were leaving, Ms. Sullivan.” He bit out her name like a curse.  
  
“I just have to make sure, Mr. Winchester,” she returned. “Last time I thought you’d left, your partner was back at my apartment, waiting for Lois to come home.”  
  
Dean’s frown was turned on his brother. “Can’t let it go, can you?” he muttered.  
  
Samuel didn’t respond verbally, but a conversation passed between them nonetheless, and Chloe was surprised by the emotions playing over the younger man’s features. There was more to their interest in her and Lois than she’d first thought, but she still couldn’t piece together a decent clue.  
  
Nor, could she figure out why it was causing the sorrow in Samuel’s eyes.  
  
“I won’t call,” she bargained, before she could think about what she was proposing. “If you promise to leave town now, I won’t call.” It was a bargain that went against her moral code, but it was made with little hesitation. She wasn’t a reporter who made a habit of letting criminals go free, but she _was_ a reporter who relied on hard and fast facts to drive her opinion.  
  
And, so far, very little of what she’d learned about the Winchesters matched the two men she was standing in front of.  
  
Dean shared another look with his brother, before returning his attention to her. “Believe it or not, we were trying to help.”  
  
“Fine,” she responded, fighting her instinct to ask for more details. Help with what? Why? And how did any of that have to do with their long and creative criminal history? She swallowed her questions and finished what she’d come for.  
  
Curious or not. Her loved ones came first. And that meant she had to send the Winchesters out of town, before Lois found out about them and got herself into the kind of trouble she had a knack for finding.  
  
“But if you don’t stop trying to help,” she started, “I’ll go public with everything I know.”

  



	3. Research Needed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe's looking into the mysterious clouds. Sam's looking into Chloe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay!

They were on the road for a solid day, driving like they were being chased. Sam didn’t even want to begin to list of things that could be on their tail. The list was long and painful—and they’d just added an irritated reporter to it.  
  
“Think she’ll call the FBI?” he asked.  
  
Dean kept his frown focused on the dark road in front of him. “Who knows,” he grumbled. “But if she does, I’m blaming you.”  
  
“Me?”  
  
“Yeah you. You’re the one who wouldn’t let this case go. If we’d left when I wanted, we never would have been in this mess.” Dean shot him a quick glare before returning to the road. “Why couldn’t you just let it go?”  
  
It was a pointless question. Dean knew the answer. Sam _knew_ Dean knew the answer. But if he wanted it repeated: “Because I’m not as quick to condemn someone to Hell as you are.”  
  
“We aren’t _condemning_ anyone to Hell,” Dean shot back. “We’re letting one woman handle her own destiny. If she wants to make a deal for her cousin that’s her own problem. Not ours.”  
  
 _And if your brother makes the same deal?_ Sam didn’t bother responding. He knew Dean’s response. Repeating old arguments wasn’t going to get them anywhere, and it certainly wasn’t going to save his brother from Hell.  
  
“Stop in the next town,” he instructed, instead. “I think we’ve driven far enough.”  
  
Dean looked ready to argue, his face tense as he prepared his next point of irritation. Instead, he gave a sharp nod. “Fine.”

  
“Okay.”

\---

After her final threat, the Winchesters had left town, taking the mystery of their presence with them. Chloe still couldn’t figure out why they’d been in town investigating her resurrection, but she was just going to have to be grateful they were gone. Even if she didn’t completely believe all that their police reports suggested, she still had to assume they were dangerous.  
  
There had to be a reason they were wanted by the FBI.  
  
As long as they didn’t show back up in her life, she could move on. It wasn’t as if she didn’t have plenty to focus her attention on—and that wasn’t including her newly surfaced meteor powers.  
  
Ignoring her wandering mind, she brought her attention back to the newspaper in her hand, blocking out any thoughts of Winchesters or meteor powers as she read and made her way back to her _Daily Planet_ desk.  
  
 _Three of Seven Missing Persons Found._  
  
Missing persons articles were all too common, but the one she’d found in _Oak Park Journal_ promised to offer clues to the mystery she’d been trying to dissect for almost a week—a mystery that had nothing to do with Dean Winchester and his possible meteor powers.  
  
 _…Three previously missing residents of Oak Park were found yesterday, just outside Lincoln, Nebraska…_ She reread the sentence, trying to picture the distance between Oak Park, Illinois and Lincoln, Nebraska. The article didn’t offer an explanation as to why the three residents had been found so far from home, leaving Chloe to fill in the blanks.  
  
Luckily, she had a theory, and it revolved around the mysterious clouds.  
  
Less than a day after she’d woken up in the morgue, reports of strange, dark clouds over seventeen cities across the country (including Oak Park) had cropped up in various newspapers. Chloe’s attention had been pretty focused on her new power, but the numerous reports had piqued her reporter interest—or, more specifically, they had piqued her friend-to-an-alien interest.  
  
Meteorologists had ignored the clouds as nothing more than a fluke, but Chloe was worried there was more to the dark clouds than a threat of bad weather. The whole situation looked too much like the Zoner arrival from the year before.  
  
With the recent disappearances (and reappearances), her theory had more validity. Dark clouds were a possible story. Seven missing persons was news worthy. When they happened in the same town, they became the kind of story Chloe preferred: strange and unexplained.  
  
The newspaper and its online counterpart were full of theories, but they mostly involved a belief that one or more of the three “found” persons had murdered the still-missing citizens. The police weren’t so sure.  
  
And, neither was Chloe. It was never that easy.  
  
“Hey Chlo’. Chloe?” Jimmy’s voice pulled her from her internal musings.  
  
She turned and smiled at him, trying to make the small stack of papers in her hand seem unimportant. Lately, he’d become increasingly more interested in the weirdness that was Smallville, and she had a feeling he’d jump on the story in her hand if he got the chance.  
  
It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate his new belief that the world wasn’t as normal as Joe-citizen believed—she _did_ —but some things were better if kept off his radar. And those _things_ were stories that involved potential extraterrestrial attacks. The last thing she (or Clark) needed was him looking into the local alien life.  
  
“Hi Jimmy.” She leaned over as he approached and gave him a peck on the mouth. “What’s up?”  
  
“Nothing special. I was just wondering if you’d like to get some lunch with me. My treat.” He smiled as he spoke, and Chloe felt her own smile grow. New interest in the unusual or not, Jimmy was still Jimmy. Earnest, heartfelt Jimmy.

Chloe nodded, moving the two steps back to her desk to grab her bag. She stuffed the newspaper article inside, slung the bag over her arm, and then slipped her free arm through his. “Let’s go.”

\---

Dean wanted him to drop the research and focus on something else. Something useful, like a new hunt or a way to stop the demon war they seemed on the brink of. Luckily, with Dean distracted at Lisa Braeden’s house, Sam could do exactly the opposite of what his brother wanted.  
  
And that meant researching a way out of Dean’s deal _and_ looking up more information on the reporter they’d left in Smallville. He had no real proof yet, but a small—likely naïve—part of him believed if he solved the mystery of Chloe’s resurrection he would have a clue for stopping Dean’s deal.  
  
His first instinct had been to file Chloe’s resurrection under a crossroads deal. It wasn’t hard to believe that Lois would be willing to sell her soul to save Chloe’s life. Family would do anything to keep each other safe.  
  
Still, the more he researched Chloe, her cousin, and Smallville in general, the more Sam began to think there was something more to the case. Bobby, it seemed, had been right about Smallville: it was a strange town full of stories that appeared supernatural on the surface, but were nothing more than a citizen gone mental.  
  
And Chloe was right in the middle of the chaos.  
  
If a crossroads deal hadn’t brought her back to life, maybe the reason didn’t lie in the supernatural, but in the strangeness that was Smallville. Maybe Chloe’s resurrection fit in with the stories she had written on the powerful meteor rocks. Maybe whatever had brought her back to life could save Dean.  
  
 _If you don’t stop trying to help, I’ll go public with everything I know._  
  
But before he could test his theory, he would have to find a way to get past Chloe’s threat of exposure. He and his brother were good at staying off the radar, when they needed to. The more Sam researched, though, the more he started to realize just how good Chloe was at finding those who were off the radar.  
  
Not many people could boast exposing a teacher’s criminal past, surviving their safe house exploding, and being the key witness in a trial that sent a powerful billionaire to prison—all before graduating high school.  
  
It was an impressive record—one Sam knew he shouldn’t go poking at—but his brother was going to Hell in less than a year.  
  
Risking prison was worth it if it meant saving Dean.  
  
And maybe, it would turn out okay. Maybe Chloe held the key to saving Dean.  
  
…Maybe Sam really was naïve.

 ---

“And these clouds were spotted over seventeen cities?” Clark asked, taking the folder of information from Chloe.  
  
They walked as they talked, heading towards the _Daily Planet_ entrance. Chloe was— _thankfully_ —done for the day. She loved her job, but her new editor, Grant Gabriel, left a lot to be desired. One of them wasn’t going to make it out of their working relationship in one piece.  
  
“Yeah. Two weeks ago, these clouds were spotted in the skyline, but no one noticed anything after that.” She paused as Clark read over the information she’d collected. The folder in his hands contained all the articles on the dark clouds that she’d been able to recover, including the article from _Oak Park Journal_ on the missing citizens.  
  
Aside from the one article, the _Journal_ hadn’t reported any more on the missing persons. After calling in a few favors and throwing the name _Daily Planet_ around, though, she’d managed to dig up more information—specifically the contact information of one of the three returned citizens.  
  
The woman, Katy, hadn’t been too eager to talk, but that had rarely deterred Chloe.  
  
“ _You want answers? Why don’t you try finding those four people who were at the house with us? They’re the ones with the answers._ I’m _the one who doesn’t remember anything beyond waking up in that strange house._  
  
Theoretically, _those four people_ could have been the four still-missing citizens. In fact, it had been one of the theories tossed out by locals in Oak Park. Chloe knew it wasn’t that simple, though—especially not when the four people described didn’t match the missing citizens. The four people Katy was talking about were strangers. Strangers who had apparently saved her life…at least from what she could remember and piece together.  
  
 _They saved my life. I don’t know how or why or even from what, but I know I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for them._  
  
An African American woman, and three Caucasian men—one somewhat older than his male partners. The woman had been quiet. The older man had been reassuring. And the younger men had been somber— _they just kept watching me with pity. It was unnerving. I mean, they were_ **handsome** in that tall, dark, and packing heat kind of way, but still…unnerving.  
  
Something big happened in that house. Something big and scary…but I didn’t ask questions. I don’t think I want to know. …They didn’t give us any names, just pointed us in the direction of a phone and disappeared.  
  
At any other time, the mention of two somber looking men would have brought a generic picture to mind. Three days after the Winchesters and their compassionate gazes left town, _they_ were the image Chloe came up with. Not that she really believed it was them.  
  
It was just a thought. Nothing more—  
  
“So,” Clark pressed. “Why are you showing me this?”  
  
They’d reached the _Planet_ entrance, and she turned to face him. “Because, I’m pretty sure this is more than just a case of bad weather. I think it might be your kinda gig,” she explained, giving her friend a loaded look.

Clark looked back down at the folder in his hands then shook his head, meeting her gaze. “You mean another Zoner invasion?”  
  
“Or something. It’s not like we have access to a full list of extraterrestrial events.”  
  
“No, we don’t,” Clark agreed. “But, this doesn’t have anything to do with the Zoners. Bizarro was the last one. And I don’t think it’s anything extraterrestrial at all. With John Jones, and now Kara, we’d know if there was something out there.”  
  
Chloe nodded, though she didn’t like the conclusion. If it wasn’t extraterrestrial then what was it?  
  
“Maybe it’s just a fluke?” Clark suggested, unknowingly reading her thoughts.  
  
“Clark,” she said critically. “When has it ever just been a fluke?”  
  
Clark looked thoughtful. “Good point.”  
  
She quirked an eyebrow and continued out the doors. “On a slightly related note, I got that paperwork on Kara.” She pulled out more information from her bag and offered to Clark. He exchanged the Oak Park folder for the file on his cousin. “Kara Kent is officially an American citizen.”  
  
Clark smiled appreciatively as he scanned the fake identifications for his Kryptonian cousin. “This looks great. Thanks.”  
  
“It’s a skill,” she joked with a wave of her hand.  
  
Her friend chuckled. “One I’m glad you use for good.”  
  
And just like that, her thoughts were back on the Winchesters—namely the man who seemed to share one of her _skills_. Dean came back to life and impersonated officers to get information. Chloe came back from the dead and created fake identities for aliens.  
  
She may be using her powers for good, but what was Dean using his for?

\---

By the time he’d stitched, bandaged, and pilled his brother, Dean was ready to strangle something. Sam had been _shot_ by a woman who was more interested in material wealth than someone’s life. If he ever saw Bela again, he wasn’t going to be held responsible for his actions.  
  
“You’re seething too loudly,” Sam muttered from his place sprawled on his bed.  
  
Dean looked up with a frown. He’d thought Sam had been sleeping, his recent bout of bad luck exhausting his normally nocturnal little brother. “Shut up and go back to sleep, Jinx.”  
  
“You shut up,” was the eloquent response from his college educated sibling.  
  
Dean stretched a leg across the space between their beds and nudged Sam’s mattress, just enough to earn an indignant grunt. Satisfied, Dean pulled his leg back onto his own bed and turned his attention to other pressing matters.  
  
Like plotting harm to anyone else who thought it was okay to shoot his brother.  
  
Sam could take care of himself, but Dean wasn’t dead yet. And he was still the big brother.

\---

“This is Chloe Sullivan with the _Daily Planet_. I was wondering if I could speak to Detective Diana Ballard?”  
  
“One moment.”  
  
Chloe tapped her pen as she waited for the call to transfer. It had been a week since she’d discovered the article on the Oak Park missing citizens, and her desk showed signs of constant research. Articles, post-it notes, and an assortment of scribbled statements had been piled on her desk. Somewhere between investigating the Oak Park residents and looking for an explanation on the mysterious dark clouds, her research had taken a turn towards the Winchester brothers.  
  
Logic told her they had nothing to do with either case. Wall-of-Weird instinct told her they had the answers she was looking for.  
  
Either way, they were her new research subject, and she wasn’t interested in dropping the case until she had an answer.  
  
Using weak leads and even weaker connections, she’d eventually collected enough names and phone numbers to collect a stack of information on the Winchesters. The list of those with a connection to them was short, but it seemed to be split in two.  
  
On one side, there were a number of statements that the brothers were trouble. The Winchesters were connected to murders in St. Louis, an armed robbery in Milwaukee, and had escaped from police custody—even prison—on more than one occasion.  
  
Her original contact, Agent Henriksen, had been the first to list all of the Winchesters’ wrongdoings. Unlike most lawmen, Henriksen had been more than happy to talk to the press. He wanted the brothers’ names in the public eye, believing that the more people knew about them, the smaller their chances of hiding would remain— _“Those two are professionals. Taking them down is going to be hard, but we’ll get ‘em.”_  
  
At no time during their phone conversation had Chloe mentioned the brother’s visit to Smallville. The agent had spent the entire interview warning her of the dangers that were the Winchesters and she’d kept her mouth shut.  
  
It wasn’t like it was the first time she’d broken the law—  
  
“This is Detective Ballard.”  
  
Chloe grabbed a notepad, tucked the phone in between her shoulder and ear, and forgot about what she had or hadn’t told Henriksen. She had an interview to conduct. Phone interviews never held the same amount of excitement as those conducted in-person, but an interview was an interview.  
  
“Hi detective. Thank you for taking my call. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about two brothers you had in your custody a while back.”  
  
“Do you mean the Winchester brothers?” Ballard didn’t seem all that surprised by the question. Chloe could just imagine how many of them the woman had already answered about the two men who’d escaped her custody.  
  
“Yes, ma’am. I’m writing a piece on their criminal history, and I know that they were in your custody for some time before escaping.” Chloe poised her pen anticipating Ballard’s next words.  
  
“Yes, they were—” Ballard paused as someone in the background began talking. “Miss Sullivan, I’m afraid I have to run.” Chloe pursed her lips. It wasn’t the first interview she’d had cut short thanks to a well-timed “interruption.”  
  
“But I want you to know that the Winchesters are good men,” Ballard continued, unaware of Chloe’s annoyance. “I can’t begin to know anything about their involvement in Milwaukee, but I’d bet my career they were there to help not harm. Those boys saved my life and helped me stop my murderous partner.”  
  
Chloe raised an eyebrow as she wrote, silently reminding herself to place Ballard’s statements on the stack opposite from Henriksen’s. “But they escaped custody.”  
  
Ballard sighed, and Chloe found herself wishing she could see her eyes. “Yes. I messed up keeping an eye on them. But you don’t stay off the grid as well as they do without knowing how to vanish from custody—Look, I really have to go. If you have any more questions feel free to call me again later, okay?”  
  
“Okay. Thank you for your time.” Chloe waited for Ballard to hang up before doing the same. She pulled Ballard’s statement off her notepad and set it in the growing stack of positive statements.  
  
For deadly criminals, the brothers sure had fans.  
  
And those fans were doing a better job at convincing her than Henriksen and his warnings had managed. The Winchesters had a criminal record, but they also had a list a supporters—supporters who ranged from everyday citizens to detectives like Diana Ballard.  
  
She could keep interviewing and writing down statements. She could keep adding to the two piles in front of her—the human created pro-con list on the Winchesters.  
  
Or she could go to the source.  
  
Long-shot or not, Sam and Dean were her only real lead she had on the dark clouds and missing persons. It was a story that was quickly becoming more trouble than it was probably worth, but it was a story she didn’t feel right giving up on.  
  
She sighed as she turned her attention to tracking down the two men she’d only recently run out of town.

“I just hope this is worth it.”

\---

After Lisa Braeden, Bela Talbot, changelings, and a cursed rabbit foot, Dean was ready for a new case. He should have known his brother would still be interested in old news.  
  
He was just glad Sam’s newest obsession wasn’t his deal—even if it _was_ the woman who’d threatened to turn them into the authorities. “Lionel Luthor?” Dean repeated, after his brother finished explaining everything he’d found on Chloe.  
  
Sam nodded, leaning forward in his seat as he spoke. The diner around them was busy, full of background chatter that effectively masked their conversation. “Yeah, apparently Chloe found out Lionel had had his parents murdered. She actually got him to confess to it.”  
  
Dean was skeptical. “He confessed? A powerful man like Lionel Luthor confessed to a chick in high school?”  
  
“Apparently.” Sam shrugged, gesturing to the article on Luthor’s conviction. “I don’t know how she did it, but she did.”  
  
“But that was almost four years ago. Lionel’s out of prison, and Chloe’s still alive.” Dean pointed to Sam with his loaded fork, a theory forming. “I bet they were working together somehow.”  
  
“What?” Sam pushed the fork from his face. “No way.”  
  
“No, sure. Think about it,” Dean insisted. He brought the fork to his mouth then used the empty utensil to point at the article on the explosion at Chloe’s safe house. “He almost killed her while he was _in_ prison. What makes him stop his attempts on her life once he got out?”  
  
“Maybe he just grew a conscience,” Sam offered.  
  
Dean cocked an eyebrow. “Yeah right.” He paused thoughtfully, glancing over the articles in front of him again. At best, most of the stories looked like ones that belonged in Weekly World News—if not written better. The fact that all the stories were probably _true_ was the unnerving part. “She’s good,” he muttered finally.  
  
An investigative reporter was one thing. An investigative reporter with experience in the strange and unexplained was another. One had significantly more challenges than the other.  
  
Sam’s cell phone rang, before he could respond. He pulled it out of his pocket and answered, watching Dean as he did. “Hello?”  
  
Dean watched his brother’s eyebrows rise as the person on the other end started talking. He made an impatient gesture, expecting Sam to give him some hint of topic. Eyebrows still up, Sam pushed the stack of articles on their table towards Dean and pointed.  
  
 _By Chloe Sullivan_  
  
Chloe was on the other end. The reporter had found them.  
  
Dean braced himself as Sam pulled the phone away from his ear and set it on the table. He hadn’t said a word during the brief phone call. Chloe had controlled the conversation and left Sam to keep up. That, in itself, was troublesome.  
  
“What did she want?” Dean demanded.  
  
“She wants us to go back to Smallville. She needs to talk to us about what happened in Lincoln, Nebraska.”  
  
Dean blinked. “How does she know we were there?”  
  
“She doesn’t,” Sam said firmly, but there was a crack in his mask.  
  
“You mean you _hope_ she doesn’t,” Dean translated.  
  
Sam shot him a look. “You better hope she doesn’t either. The last thing your record needs is another connection to a crime.”  
  
“Okay fine, but I’ve got a more pressing question.”  
  
“Shoot.”  
  
Dean nudged his brother’s cell phone across the table. “How the hell did she get your number?”

  



	4. Second Impressions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group meets again and opinions are changed. A little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I make no promises that I'll be better at updating...because I'm clearly not good at that.   
> I do apologize for the delay, however. Thank you for reading!!

Unless she was meeting a friend, Chloe preferred to spend her nights in the apartment above the Talon, instead of on the ground floor among the next generation’s caffeine addicts. Sitting back and observing the coffee-drinkers of Smallville High had lost its appeal after she’d stopped being a member of that particular group.  
  
Yet, for the last few nights, she’d tucked herself into a corner, wrapped her hands around a warm mug, and waited. Sam Winchester hadn’t exactly agreed to her request for him and his brother to return to Smallville. She was just hoping their curiosity would get the better of them.  
  
For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why she’d requested a face-to-face with the same men she’d threatened the FBI on just to get them out of her town. A phone call would have been enough—had always been enough.  
  
It didn’t make sense. But then, nothing about the story she was working on made sense.  
  
And so, she was stuck. Waiting—

  
For Dean Winchester to walk inside.  
  
The man moved through the crowd with the ease of a regular and didn’t glance her way once. Not until he was almost on top of her table. There was no surprise in his gaze as their eyes locked. He blinked at her once, raised an eyebrow in a silent question, and then turned and ducked out of the back of the Talon.  
  
Chloe was on her feet and at the back door before it could close completely.  
  
“Dean!” she called, stepping outside and into the dark alley. “Dean?”  
  
When he didn’t respond, she grabbed her phone and dialed. For men with more aliases than official records, it had been surprisingly easy to track down their phone numbers. Then again, she’d learned early on that her definition of _easy_ didn’t necessarily match Webster’s.  
  
The phone rang continuously, seemingly headed towards a voicemail as its owner ignored the call. “I hate hide and seek,” she grumbled, studying the alley. She’d only been a few seconds behind him, but somehow Dean had managed to merge himself with one of the area’s shadows.  
  
She spun as a faint ringtone sounded behind her. Confirming her suspicions, Dean stepped from a deep shadow, expression unchanged from the one he’d directed at her in the Talon. She hung up, cutting the ringtone off and preparing for the question on his face to be voiced.  
  
“I’m not a fan of the game either,” Dean said, hedging towards conversational, but not quite reaching. It reminded her of the description Victor Henriksen had given her. The brothers were hardened criminals, wanted for murder, grave-desecration, and a number of other morbid crimes. The man in front of her looked capable of at least a few morbid wrong-doings.  
  
“We’re here,” he continued, ignoring her inner-conflict. “Just as requested.” He stepped towards her with a self-assured smirk, and Chloe resisted the sudden urge to step back. “Let’s talk.”  
  
She nodded mutely, wondering if _maybe_ she’d made a mistake.

\---

  
  
Sam stood as Dean walked inside the motel room, Chloe trailing behind him with an expression that wavered between worry and intrigue. Gone was the determined woman who had told them on no uncertain terms that they were to leave town or face the consequences. In her place was a woman who wore journalistic curiosity like an old shirt, but still knew the dangers she was letting herself walk into.  
  
He knew the reputation he and Dean had collected. The fact that Chloe hadn’t taken one look at their record and called the police was remarkable—to have her then seek them out after was even more so. Whatever story she was working on, she was willing to use every resource to get answers, including wanted murderers.  
  
Somehow, though, Sam had a feeling most of the worry on her face could be blamed on the man who was walking in front of her—his brother.  
  
He shot Dean a pointed look, not surprised to see him respond with an innocent one. _I did nothing._  
  
So much for his promise to be civil. Sam didn’t really want to think about what Dean had said or done to Chloe before getting her to follow them to their motel room. Though, she _had_ followed so it couldn’t have been too scarring.  
  
“Hi Chloe.” Sam gestured to a chair near the door. “Have a seat.”  
  
She looked down at the chair then shook her head. “No thanks. I think I’ll stand.”  
  
Dean deliberately moved around Chloe, tossing his jacket on the nearest surface. “Suit yourself.” He grabbed the chair, spun it in place, and straddled it. Sam was almost surprised when he didn’t stick out his tongue.  
  
To her credit, Chloe took in the display without comment or much facial expression. She simply took a step back and leaned against the wall, matching Dean with forced confidence.  
  
“So.” Sam looked between the two as he returned to his seat. “You wanted to talk about Lincoln?” he prompted, when no one spoke.  
  
All three of them were on edge, but the tension coming off of Chloe and Dean was enough to make Sam long for the exit. It had probably been a mistake returning to Smallville. And the sooner they got the initial conversation out of the way, the sooner they could figure out just how big that mistake was.  
  
Without a glance at the other, Chloe and Dean crossed their arms in tandem. A response that managed to heighten Dean’s uneasy posture, yet, appeared to give Chloe more confidence. Her expression shifted to one Sam recognized from their last meeting. She was back in control and ready to make demands—or conduct an interview.  
  
It was the look of a hardnosed-reporter, and it wasn’t the first time Sam had witnessed it. Only, the last time had been on the face of his brother’s ex-girlfriend.  
  
If Chloe was anything like Cassie Robinson, they were trouble.  
  
“A month ago, seven residents from Oak Park, Illinois went missing without a trace,” Chloe started, not shifting from her stiff, arm-crossed stance. “Then a little over a week later, three of those residents turned up in Lincoln, Nebraska with no memory of how they got there.”  
  
Neither brother spoke, waiting for her to continue to her point. They knew the details. They just didn’t know why she knew, or cared—or thought it involved them.  
  
“Now, it could have easily been an odd case of amnesia tied with a traumatic kidnapping gone wrong. _But_ —” her arms unfolded and she dug inside the bag at her hip, producing a small stack of papers. “I think it’s more than that. I think this case of missing persons is somehow connected to the mysterious cloud cover, witnessed over seventeen cities, on the same night the Oak Park residents were reported as missing.”  
  
She split the stack in half and handed them to the brothers, before delivering her conclusion. “And, I think you two know all of this already.”  
  
Sam didn’t bother skimming the papers, choosing instead to study the woman who’d just accurately guessed at their involvement in Lincoln, Nebraska. As far as conclusions went, that was one he never would have thought she’d piece together. Their names were on so many other cases—St. Louis, Milwaukee, the prison in Little Rock—yet she’d tied them to Lincoln.  
  
There was something unnerving about the way Chloe’s mind worked.  
  
“Dark clouds and missing citizens,” Dean repeated, tone heavy with disbelief. He offered Sam a can-you-believe-this-chick frown. “Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but weather patterns and state-hopping citizens don’t exactly peak our interest.” He glanced down at a newspaper clipping then back at her face. “Especially when we’re across the country at the time.” He held out the clipping for Sam, pointing to the date.  
  
“May eighth, we were in…Phoenix?” he asked.  
  
Sam shook his head, taking his cue. “Peoria, in that motel room with the broken a/c,” he reminded, grimacing a little at the fake memory. Lies held more validity when they came with personal details. Peoria was a flimsy answer. Peoria with a stuffy motel room was part of an anecdote.  
  
“Peoria.” Chloe nodded, looking convinced for almost a full second before pinning Dean with a knowing frown. “Do you know how easy it is to trace a credit card’s history?”  
  
Dean shrugged. “No clue, but CSI makes it look about as easy as using Google.”  
  
She pulled the stack of papers from Sam’s hand and flipped through a few pages then offered Dean the result. “Not quite that simple, but simple enough. And it doesn’t matter if those cards are forged, the history shows up just like any other card.”  
  
“Your point?” Dean asked, ignoring the papers under his nose.  
  
“My point: The day you and Sam showed up in Smallville, Kellan Ruiz bought a room at the Smallville Inn, a week after he'd bought a room in a small town just outside Lincoln.” Chloe dropped the papers on Dean’s lap, and Sam did his best to school his features. Kellan Ruiz was Dean’s latest credit card scam.  
  
“And, your picture matched the description both motel clerks gave of Kellan.” Chloe finished without so much as a satisfied smile. She suddenly looked anxious, her words proving Sam’s estimation of her investigative skills. She wasn’t just taking a chance and placing them in Lincoln through some flimsy clue. She’d researched. She had more damning proof.  
  
And she hadn’t gone to the police with it.  
  
“I think you know what those dark clouds were, and I think you know how they are connected to the missing citizens,” she added.  
  
“What do we look like? Weathermen?” Dean asked, his tone not as disbelieving as it had been. He knew the same thing Sam did. Chloe was setting them at the scene of a potential crime, but she wasn’t throwing out accusations.  
  
She was asking for answers.  
  
“No, but you do match the description one of the missing persons gave me.”  
  
“Ruggedly handsome?” Dean joked.  
  
“Tall, dark, and packing heat,” she corrected, with a cocked eyebrow.  
  
“Who says we’re packin’?”  
  
Chloe’s other eyebrow joined the first. “You’re going to tell me you’re not?”  
  
“We can’t tell you anything, because we don’t know anything,” Sam said, steering the conversation away from the current topic and the pistols the two of them had tucked into their waistbands.  
  
Chloe gave Sam a watered down version of the look she’d aimed towards Dean. “Then what were you doing in Lincoln.”  
  
“Visiting family,” Dean threw out, irritation no longer a subtle part of his tone. “What does it matter to you?”  
  
Matching Dean’s frown, Chloe stepped away from the wall, grabbed a chair, and sat down so she was eye-level with them. “It matters to me because cloud patterns like that don’t just spring up naturally. And people don’t just go missing from one town only to be found in another with no memory. And those two events _don’t_ just happen in the same town without it meaning something. Something big.”  
  
She actually looked worried. “Something dangerous.”  
  
“Look,” she continued before either of them could answer. “I just want some explanations. The last time something like this happened a lot of people died. I’m not willing to risk that again.”  
  
Sam didn’t have to fake the confusion in his voice. “The last time?”  
  
“Just…” Chloe shook her head, brushing off his question. “Just think about it, okay? You two are the only leads I have. I’m not expecting you to trust me. I’m just asking for help.”  
  
She stood as she spoke, taking a step backwards towards the door. She wasn’t going to push for answers, she was going to let them do as she’d suggested— _think about it_. “And,” she added as her hand wrapped around the doorknob. “I promise not to call the FBI.”  
  
“I thought we were dangerous criminals,” Dean pointed out.  
  
Chloe shrugged. “It’s surprising the stories you hear when you dig a little deeper.” And with that vague response, she slipped out the door, leaving them alone.  
  
Dean waited until they heard her car pull away then pointed at the door and shook his head. “No way.”

  
  
Sam didn’t respond. _The last time something like this happened a lot of people died. I’m not willing to risk that again._ Maybe it had been a mistake to return to Smallville. _I’m not expecting you to trust me. I’m just asking for help._ But the mystery of Chloe Sullivan kept growing with every meeting, and Sam was curious enough to want to solve it.  
  
He just had to convince his brother.

\---

  
  
“I said no, Sam.” Dean punctuated his statement by stuffing a pile of jeans into his duffel bag. Chloe had barely pulled out of the parking lot and he was already packing. He didn’t need to stick around and let her change her mind about calling the FBI.  
  
Promise or not, he wasn’t sure he could trust her—or wanted to trust her. After Ruby and Bela, and even Tamara, Dean had had his share of untrustworthy women.  
  
“Why not, Dean?”  
  
“You know why. She knows too much. She’s practically got the FBI on speed-dial.”  
  
“She said she wouldn’t call—”  
  
“Yeah, not until she’s got more dirt on us.”  
  
Sam sighed, sitting back down in the chair he’d just vacated. “I don’t think so.”  
  
“Oh and suddenly you can read minds?” Dean finished packing and yanked the zipper on his duffel closed. “We never should have come here, Sam. You said it yourself, the last thing our records need is another black mark. And I think Lincoln counts as a black mark.”  
  
Dean still couldn’t pinpoint an exact reason for their return to Smallville. He was willing to blame the whole thing on Sam, though. Sam and his need for answers.  
  
“If we don’t help her, she’s going to go after this story on her own, and she has no idea what she’s dealing with.” Sam leaned forward in his seat, eyeing his brother. “She’s going to get herself killed.”  
  
“So?” Dean snapped, only to have his irritation die at the idea. Sam was right. Chloe looked stubborn enough to go after the story with or without their help. And he doubted she knew the first thing about demons.

  
  
He looked at his brother, wishing Sam wasn’t so logical. Things would be easier that way. His disinterest in Chloe’s fate could go unchecked. “Fine, but you get to tell her the good news.”

\---

  
The knock on the door came sooner than Chloe had expected. In fact, part of her had expected the Winchesters to high-tail it out of town the moment she’d left their motel. They didn’t trust easy—that much was obvious—and her story was a little hard to believe.  
  
“Come in,” she called, her attention on the stacks of papers strewn across her kitchen counter. When she went after a story, she looked for as many explanations as possible—and that meant a lot of paperwork.  
  
“They weren’t just clouds.”

  
  
Chloe looked up at Sam’s voice. Somehow, she’d assumed it would be Dean at her door—again. It was almost a relief to be faced with the other Winchester. The one who looked willing to give her a chance.  
  
“I kinda figured,” she said easily. “Do you know what they were?”  
  
Sam leaned against the opposite side of the counter, studying her. “What were they last time this happened?”  
  
She bit her lip, unsure if she was ready to open that line of conversation. It hedged too close to secrets that weren’t hers to share. But, the best way to get answers was to offer some in exchange. “Rogue aliens.”  
  
“Aliens?” Sam actually looked surprised. “There’s no such thing.”  
  
She almost laughed. “Sam, you’re in Smallville. Extraterrestrial phenomena are as regular as the farmer’s market.”  
  
His responding _huh_ didn’t sound too convinced, but he wasn’t arguing. “Strange town,” he muttered. “Those dark clouds weren’t aliens. They were demons.”  
  
It was Chloe’s turn for surprise. She blinked, letting the information sink in. Demons hadn’t been on her list of possibilities. But then, as a rule, her list was usually loose and subject to change. “You mean like real, hell-raising, supernatural beings?”  
  
Sam nodded. “And that’s putting it lightly.”  
  
“So much for aliens being the worst-case scenario.”  
  
To her relief, Sam’s mouth quirked slightly in amusement. For a moment, they were on level ground, and Chloe was looking at an ally instead of a threat. Before the moment could die, she collected her papers into a folder and stuffed the whole thing back into her bag, nodding towards the door. “Can we continue this conversation with Dean, or are you here without permission?”  
  
“I have permission,” he said wryly.  
  
“Good. Let’s go.”  
  
Sam was studying her again, uncertainty in his eyes as clearly as it had been during their first meeting. He was surprised by her—or by her reaction. He was expecting more disbelief.  
  
She moved around the counter so she was standing in front of him, the need to explain herself a pressing thing. “After you left Smallville, did you look me up? Do research to find out how much of a threat I was?”  
  
Sam didn’t bother with denial. “Yes.”  
  
“And what did you find out?”  
  
He actually smiled. “That your life is weird.”  
  
“You don’t know the half of it,” she agreed then patted her bag, making the papers inside rustle. “Demons may not have been my first guess, but they’re not that unexpected. Especially not after what I found out about you and your brother.”  
  
Sam shifted. “What did you find out?”  
  
She returned his earlier smile. “That your life is weird.”  
  
“Understatement.”  
  
It was far from trust, but the look he gave her at least bordered on understanding, and that was enough for her.  
  
When she led the way to the door, Sam followed.

\---

Dean wasn’t sure why Sam and Chloe had moved their info-session back to the motel room. It wasn’t like he was contributing to the conversation. After Chloe had prompted them with the not-so-simple _why demons_ , Sam had been the one to answer.  
  
An opened-gate to Hell.  
  
A demon army.  
  
A looming war.  
  
And a reporter who was remarkably calm about the whole thing.  
  
“So, these demons are soldiers in waiting?” she asked. The way she asked her questions and waited for answers implied an experience with interviews, but the ease with which she took in the news implied a different kind of experience.  
  
The kind Dean wasn’t sure anyone had outside the hunting world.  
  
“We killed their leader, but the demons are still a threat. They don’t exactly sit calmly and wait for orders,” Sam said.  
  
“Hence the missing Oak Park residents?” Chloe guessed.  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
Finally, there was a pause in the conversation. Chloe had run out of questions and Sam wasn’t about to offer unsolicited information. Overall, he’d stuck with the basics, offering facts and keeping important details to himself. There were too many personal points tied in with the demon war—too many things Chloe didn’t need to know about them.  
  
It wasn’t her fight. The only thing she needed to know was the level of danger and the necessity of her staying out of it.  
  
“What can I do?” she asked finally.  
  
So much for understanding the danger.  
  
“Honestly? Stay out of the way,” Sam said, his face hardening slightly into an expression Dean rarely saw him wear. His little brother was usually nothing but soft eyes and knowing looks when talking with civilians. “Seasoned hunters are being killed in this war. You’ll be more of a distraction than an aid.”  
  
Dean winced even as he agreed with his brother’s statement. Somehow, he didn’t think Chloe would appreciate being benched—  
  
“Okay.” Chloe nodded, and Dean shook his head, wondering when he’d lost his ability to read people. “I won’t fight, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help.”  
  
“Yes it does,” Dean argued. “That’s exactly what it means.”  
  
For the first time since their conversation had started, Chloe turned to study Dean. Her eyes were sharper than he’d expected, determination straightening her posture. “You’re talking about an invasion. I’m not going to just sit back and ignore it because it’s too dangerous.”  
  
“You’re going to get yourself killed,” Dean shot back.  
  
Her mouth twitched. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”  
  
And just like that the conversation was pulled from one touchy subject to another. No answers had been given for Chloe’s resurrection, but no questions had been asked either. Chloe wasn’t pressing them for personal information, and they were returning the favor.  
  
“It’s dangerous,” Dean repeated.  
  
Chloe nodded slowly, features darkening suddenly with worry. It had taken a moment, but their words had finally sunk in. She glanced down at the floor then back up at the brothers. “Do you think we can win this war?”  
  
There was a long pause, and Dean remembered when Sam had asked a similar question to Bobby. The answer— or lack of one— hadn’t been all that encouraging, but he had expected it. They were facing a demon war. The chances of humans coming out victorious were slim.  
  
But, Chloe wasn’t a hunter—she didn’t know to expect the worst—and Dean wasn’t about to be the one to tell her otherwise. He didn’t need her worrying about something she had no control over.  
  
He caught her gaze and held it. “Yes.”

 


	5. Dialing Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe calls Sam. And Dean calls back.

The _Daily Planet_ ’s basement wasn’t exactly ideal for essay writing—and her editor probably didn’t appreciate her use of the company computers—but there were days when Chloe preferred the evening calm of the basement to her apartment at the Talon.  
  
The _Planet_ kept her grounded in a way she knew she’d never really be able to explain to someone outside of journalism. It was her home away from home, and it was what she turned to when she didn’t want to think about the stress that was her life.

 

  
  
And, there was nothing quite like a last-minute essay proofing to get her to forget about her stress. School—for all the stress it could hold—had become her escape. Sometimes, with all the stuff going on her personal and not-so-personal life she could forget she was still a Junior in college. But when life—and homework—reminded her, she took the distraction for the opportunity that it was.  
  
Essays on the history of the Irish Famine didn’t require thoughts on alien best friends, meteor powers, demon wars, or photographer ex-boyfriends.  
  
Unfortunately, they were also easy to write. So, they didn’t allow her much time away from her more depressing thoughts. Frowning, she saved and printed her essay, regretting the end of the work.  
  
Her gaze flickered back over to her cell phone—the same cell phone she’d been contemplating all evening. It wasn’t the first time she’d thought about calling Jimmy—and it wouldn’t be the last.  
  
She wouldn’t— _couldn’t_ —call him. He wanted answers that she wasn’t ready to give. He wanted to know what she was holding back, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to answer him. Her meteor powers were a touchy subject, one only Clark was privy to.  
  
And Clark was currently too wrapped up in his girlfriend to notice his best friend’s distress.  
  
So, Chloe relied on homework and research to keep her mind off her problems—even if some of that research was _for_ one or more of her problems. She’d never stopped looking for answers to her mutations, nor had she dropped the mystery that was the Winchester brothers. And with the recently discovered demon apocalypse, she had plenty to study and learn up on.  
  
Again, her gaze traveled to her phone, a new number in mind. This time, she picked up and dialed, uncertainty welling up once it started ringing.  
  
Oblivious to her internal unease, Sam picked up on the second ring. “Chloe?”  
  
“Hey Sam.” There. Her tone was almost neutral. “How are things?” …even if her conversational skills were lacking.  
  
Sam didn’t answer right away, either due to surprise at her sudden call or her mundane reason for doing so. It had been over three weeks since the Winchesters had left Smallville for the second time, and she hadn’t been in contact with them since—hadn’t had a need to be in contact with them since.  
  
“Things are fine,” he said finally. She heard movement and distant footsteps like he was walking as he spoke. “Dean and I are working on a case.”  
  
“A case?”  
  
“We’re hunting,” he rephrased, using the term he’d explained during their last meeting. All those strange reports she’d received on the Winchesters hadn’t been just the confessions of unhinged citizens. They’d been real. The Winchesters hunted the things in the dark.  
  
“A demon?” she guessed.  
  
“No. A spirit. We think.”  
  
“You think?” she repeated, interest peaked. “What’s the case?”  
  
“So far, two unusual murders. We thought the first was a werewolf attack,” Sam explained and Chloe stored that tidbit of information for later— _werewolves were real_. “But the second one involved an old lady with a butcher knife.” It should have been unnerving how casually Sam explained the murders, but Chloe knew better than to judge another’s description of the dead.  
  
After all, she was the girl who had once gotten thrilled at the idea of spontaneous combustion, instead of focusing on the life that had ended.  
  
“And you think the murders are connected somehow?” she asked, unable to keep her intrigue from her tone. Unsolved mysteries were as distracting as homework—and much more exciting.  
  
“Maybe.” She heard the swish of fabric as if Sam had shrugged. “The survivor from the second attack said she saw a little girl watching from outside the window. When Dean and I investigated, we discovered the girl was a spirit. One who just stood outside the window and watched.”  
  
“A Peeping Tom spirit? Ever heard of such a thing?” Chloe’s own knowledge of spirits was limited to the few meteor influenced ones she’d encountered—and been possessed by.  
  
“Not that I remember. Usually spirits prefer to be involved in the action, attacking or possessing instead of standing on the sidelines,” Sam explained. It was both oddly comforting to listen to Sam explain spirit behavior and slightly unnerving to know that he’d confronted a case that he couldn’t solve.  
  
Even with all his years of experience, there were some things out there that he hadn’t faced. There was no telling what else was out there waiting to be discovered.  
  
Without prompting, an idea formed as she replayed his words in her head. “Maybe the spirit is more involved than you think,” she suggested, speaking before her thoughts were completely formed.  
  
“How so?” Sam was curious, but there was a note of skepticism in his tone. He hadn’t expected an answer to come from her—and she had to admit she hadn’t expected it either. Aliens and extraterrestrial infestations she knew, but spirits were still an uncertain topic for her.  
  
Yet, that didn’t mean she didn’t know a few things. “Have you ever heard of a woman named Lilian Bailey?”  
  
“I don’t think so.”  
  
Chloe smiled as her earlier unease lessened. Her life was stressful, but for the moment she had some answers. She relayed all she knew about Lilian and supernatural trances, smiling as she spoke. It felt good to be useful.  
  
Granted, her knowledge had only come as a result from research she’d done after her third possession, but it didn’t negate its usefulness—even if she chose to keep the origin of her knowledge to herself. Maybe someday, she’d tell Sam about her possessions and how they’d triggered an interest in other connections between humans and spirits.  
  
But not that day.  
  
“And Dean thought I was an encyclopedia of weird,” Sam joked, after she finished.  
  
She frowned at his words, hearing something in his tone as he spoke Dean’s name. Something that had her thinking she wasn’t the only one with personal issues. “How _is_ Dean?” she mused. “Still cursing the day he ever came to Smallville?”  
  
As far as openings went, it wasn’t much, but if Sam needed an ear to vent to that was as close to an offering as she was going to give. Somehow, she didn’t think he’d want anything more.  
  
“He’s fine,” Sam answered easily. “His usual pain-in-the-ass self.” The _something_ in his tone vanished, consciously or not, leaving her with a conversation that was more forced than friendly. Sam wasn’t up to discussing or even confessing to his problems—which was fair since she wasn’t any more willing to discuss her own.  
  
“Good to hear,” she mused. “I think.”  
  
“Mhmm.” Sam shifted his phone before continuing. “Listen, I better get going. Dean’s almost done in the library and I’ve gotta go meet him. I’ll tell him about Lilian, though. I think you’re on to something.”  
  
“Yeah?” Chloe pressed, surprisingly pleased by the slight praise.  
  
“Yeah. Thank you.”  
  
“No problem. Glad to know my meager knowledge came in handy.”  
  
Sam chuckled slightly at her words, and something inside her relaxed. For the first time since he’d answered, the call felt comfortable—and they were coming to the end. Of course. “Take care, Chloe.”  
  
“You too Sam.” But she couldn’t end it there— “And Sam?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Feel free to give me a call if you ever need help…with a case,” she finished lamely, unable to commit fully to what she’d been offering. A sympathetic ear was something to give someone who needed and would accept it. Sam might have problems, but she didn’t think he was one to go seeking help from the girl he barely knew—if he sought out help at all.  
  
“Okay. Thanks,” Sam agreed tightly, the earlier comfort gone. “Bye.”  
  
She hung up after him then set her phone aside. As far as distractions went, it wasn’t the best, but it had been something. Determined to make it last, she turned her attention back to her computer and its search engine. Sam hadn’t given her much on their case, but it probably wouldn’t take much to track down their location—not that she had any need to know where they were.

 

  
  
But if it kept her mind off of certain topics for a while longer, it was all she needed.  
  
And maybe, she’d learn a little more about the Winchesters in the process.

 

\---

  
  
Led Zeppelin streamed from the Impala’s speakers as Sam and Dean drove from the hospital. The apple Dean had found in Cinderella’s house rolled around the floor of the car, until Dean scooped it up and threw it outside with an annoyed huff.  
  
Neither of them was feeling particularly pleased with the end of their last hunt. They may have stopped the spirit and its murders, but it had cost a good man his daughter. It wasn’t one they could exactly place in the win column— _Is that what you want me to do, Dean? Just let you go?_  
  
Sam watched his brother out of the corner of his eye, suddenly curious about what Dean would think of his conversation with Chloe. The conversation itself had been pretty straightforward, a discussion on the case and a few polite inquiries that allowed it to have an air of familiarity—even if it had been anything but.  
  
It was the fact that she had called him so out-of-the-blue that had puzzled him more. That, and her offer to help on future cases. He wasn’t dense enough to not know that her offer had been meant for more than just a case, but he wasn’t going to think too much about that. He didn’t need Chloe on speed-dial to discuss his problems.  
  
The idea was all bad. And, it just wasn’t…plausible.  
  
Besides, if anyone needed someone to discuss their issues with, it was Dean. Sam had problems— _my brother sold his soul for me_ —but Dean’s own issues went deeper. He was the one headed for Hell in less than a year, and he was also the last one to talk about that fact.  
  
Ever since the devil’s gate in Wyoming, Dean had become more distant—a trait Sam knew he was guilty of too. But while all Sam seemed to be able to think and talk about was his brother’s deadline, Dean only ever brought up his trip to Hell when he could use it as an excuse for his reckless behavior—or to guilt Sam into not pulling the same reckless stunts— _don’t make my deal worthless, Sammy_.  
  
Dean was terrified. The average person wouldn’t know it by looking at him, but Sam was his brother. He knew it without even looking. He also knew it was going to take a lot to get Dean to confess to his fear.  
  
After their dad’s death, Dean had turned to Gordon for a sympathetic ear. While the choice in audience had been lacking, the fact that he had opened up to anyone at all gave Sam a little hope for a repeat performance. No amount of talking was going to keep Dean from his fate—unless it involved the crossroads demon and the Colt—but at least he’d stop acting like he didn’t care. Because Sam knew he cared. A lot.  
  
And, if that sympathetic ear turned out to be Chloe…well, at least there was less chance of her turning out to be just like Gordon.  
  
Rolling his eyes at his own thoughts, Sam leaned his head against the cool glass on the window. It was wishful thinking to believe that Dean would open up to anyone—especially Chloe. She might have proven Dean wrong by not calling the FBI, but he wasn’t ready to trust her. And, after all the recent problems they’d had with pseudo-allies, Sam couldn’t really blame him.  
  
Even if he was starting to think Chloe didn’t deserve to even be considered in the same category as Bela and Ruby.  
  
“So Sam?” Dean asked, pulling the younger man from his thoughts.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“How’d you know about that Lilian chick?” Dean glanced over at Sam before returning his gaze to the road. “Just another piece of trivial knowledge?”  
  
Sam shook his head. “No. Chloe told me.”  
  
“Oh.” Dean hesitated for a moment then nodded as if it was completely normal for Sam to get information from Chloe. His façade broke, though, when his grip tightened on the steering wheel.  
  
Sam watched his brother’s hands and knew he’d been right. Dean wasn’t going to open up to Chloe any time soon.

 

  
  
But maybe, he’d still open up to Sam.

Before it was too late.

 

\---

  
  
Dean flipped absently through channels as he waited for Sam to return with dinner. After their last case and the daughter’s death—and _Is that what you want me to do, Dean? Just let you go?_ —sitting in a motel room wasn’t high on his to-do list. But, Sam had asked, and he’d agreed. Sam was upset—he was usually upset—but that night he’d split his time between looking like a kicked puppy and trying to pretend nothing was wrong.  
  
If eating in would make Sam feel better, Dean could resist the pull of the local bar. There was always the next night.  
  
With a huff, he shut off the television and reached for his phone, almost grinning at the idea of calling his brother to complain about the delay— _I just left ten minutes ago, Dean. Chill._  
  
It could either be the cure Sam needed to get out of his slump, or it could backfire. And lately, the chances were higher for a backfire. Dean was headed for Hell in less than a year and Sam was— _understandably_ —not taking it well.  
  
Switching tactics, Dean scrolled back to the top of his phone list, skimming the list of numbers until he landed on one he’d only recently added: Chloe Sullivan.  
  
Well, there were other ways to distract himself until his brother returned with food.  
  
It had been weeks since they’d had any contact with the _Daily Planet_ reporter. As far as Dean had been concerned, their drive from Smallville had been the end of that brief partnership—if it could have been called that. Chloe had gotten the information she’d needed, and they’d left town with her promise that the FBI wouldn’t be hearing from her.  
  
End of story.  
  
But then she’d called Sam, and Dean realized he’d been wrong. They’d told her demons were preparing for battle—a fact he still regretted offering.

She wasn’t going to just sit back and ignore that kind of information—she’d said as much.  
  
Really, it was surprising it had taken her so long to call them.  
  
And Dean suddenly needed to know what had been said during their conversation. Sam wouldn’t tell her anything personal. They both agreed it was best the reporter remained in the dark about the Winchesters—as _in the dark_ as they could keep her. Yet, there was still the chance that Chloe had manged to pull something from his brother. Sam could be too trusting sometimes.  
  
Decision made, he pressed _talk_ and sat back, listening to the phone ring.  
  
He wanted to be okay with Chloe’s call to Sam. He didn’t want to be bothered by Sam getting information from another Trivial Pursuit superstar—but he was.  
  
And, really, it wasn’t all Chloe’s fault. If she had come into their lives a year earlier, he might have been a little less reluctant to trust her. But, so far, he and Sam were oh-for-two in the new acquaintances department.  
  
Chloe might not be a heartless thief, and he knew she wasn’t a demon, but that didn’t mean she was on their side. He just wasn’t looking forward to the day he was proven correct—  
  
“Hello?”  
  
Dean shifted as Chloe answered, momentarily relieved she couldn’t see his thoughts played out on his face. “Hi Chloe.”  
  
“Dean? Huh, this is a surprise.” She sounded friendly enough, but he still caught the hesitation in her voice. Apparently, his lack of complete ease around her hadn’t gone unnoticed during their last meeting.  
  
“Yeah, well, I wanted to call and thank you for your tip to Sam. It helped a lot.” He scooped up the remote control and played with it as he spoke. He could charm his way in and out of most situations, but it was harder with phone calls. The lack of another face made gauging the other person much harder.  
  
“I’m glad,” Chloe said, earnest. “You never know when those pointless bits of trivia will come in handy.” Her laugh was soft, yet forced. She didn’t want to be on the phone with him.  
  
But she’d still called Sam. Unprompted.  
  
“Did you figure out who the spirit was?” she asked suddenly, genuine interest weighing in her question. “Sam didn’t tell me much,” she added almost as an afterthought.  
  
Tension Dean didn’t realize was there eased from his shoulders and he relaxed a little more into the headboard. “Yeah. Turns out it was the spirit of a girl who’d been in a coma for years. She was trying to tell her dad that her step-mom had poisoned her.”  
  
“How very Snow White-esque.”  
  
“Exactly.”  
  
A silence settled over the conversation, and Dean thought about hanging up. _Sam didn’t tell me much._ He knew what he needed to know.  
  
Before he could hang up, Chloe interrupted. “Hey Dean…”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“You and Sam…watch out for yourselves, okay?” Her soft laugh was less forced the second time. “I hear the world just got a lot more dangerous.”  
  
Despite himself, Dean’s mouth curled into a slow smile. So maybe she _was_ on their side—at least for the moment. “You too,” he returned easily.  
  
“Bye, Dean.”  
  
“Bye.”  
  
She hung up, leaving him to his thoughts. The phone call between her and Sam may have been simple. His conversation with her, just as simple. Neither _meant_ anything. The conversations didn’t need to have deeper meanings. Dean wasn’t a fan of reading between the lines and trying to find hidden messages.

_You and Sam…_

So, the two calls had been simple.

_Watch out for yourselves, okay?_

And, for the moment, that was enough.

 


End file.
